


not like this

by kaminoh (talksmaths)



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hypothermia, Lots of Angst, M/M, Things left unsaid, set during ep v
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talksmaths/pseuds/kaminoh
Summary: Han knew Luke wouldn't live forever, but he couldn't die now. He couldn't die like this.Or, what happens when Luke doesn't make it out of Hoth.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker/Han Solo
Comments: 11
Kudos: 57





	not like this

When Han finds Luke, he’s almost indistinguishable from the snow.

From atop the tauntaun, Han can make out the darker gray of Luke’s helmet and his boots. He stops the tauntaun when his eyes catch Luke’s body, partially crumpled. He’s face down, arms folded inward like he had braced himself as he collapsed. 

Han tightens his grip on the reins.

As soon as he gets off the tauntaun, it seizes up and then falls over, motionless almost at once. The guy at the base was right about the tauntaun not making it back. But that wasn’t important.

When Han turns Luke over, his eyes are almost frozen shut with the snowflakes frozen on his eyelashes. His face is red and swollen, nose almost purple. Han promptly slices open the tauntaun’s stomach, pulls out as much hot, membrane-lined intestines as he can, and pushes Luke’s body inside. Luke doesn’t stir. He doesn’t wince when Han accidentally puts his arm in an uncomfortable position. He doesn’t choke or gag at the smell of tauntaun. Han can’t even feel him--

_ No. Not now. _

Han knows the only way they’ll both make it back is if they stay warm until the rescue team finds them. He leans against the tauntaun’s corpse, breathing hard in the dry wind. He gets to work pitching a tent from the tauntaun’s packs, which is made from some material he’s not familiar with. When he gets inside, he realizes it’s excellent at keeping out wind, which in turn keeps out part of the cold. 

From where he sits, he can see Luke’s boot. It’s not sticking out, but with his legs bent awkwardly, it’s the most prominent part of his body. Han knows he’ll be uncomfortable and sore when he gains consciousness, but he’ll be alive. That’s what’s most important.

Han manages to read the time on his watch, but only by the hour, not minutes. He can tell that he'd been out looking for Luke for two hours at the very least. He knew rescue wouldn’t try to brave the storm until it got better, so they had to wait. 

Han can’t look away from the ice-encrusted boot.

_ You idiot. You complete moron. _

Something he’d heard a lot himself. But, for fuck’s sake, Luke could’ve died out here. Did he think he was invincible just because he could use the Force?

_ No _ .

Han thinks back on Luke’s bright, wide smiles. The way he yelled at Han when Han suggested letting Leia die. The way Luke sometimes teased him, heavy-handed and verbally clumsy. He wasn’t stupid; Han knew that. He was naive, sure, but he was just full of hope. He didn’t think he was too good to not die. He just knew this cause was worth dying for. 

When nausea begins to knot in his stomach, Han checks on Luke, carefully pulling his face away from the depths of the carcass. When he does so, Luke’s legs twitch--not a movement from his weight shifting as Han puts him on his back, but a real, actual twitch. He’s  _ shivering.  _ Han knows this means he’s closer to regaining consciousness and that he’s definitely not--

_ No. Not that word. Not about Luke. _

Han shakes the word from his head and gently pulls Luke inside the tent. Han remembers in erratic and hazy but irrefutable detail the ways to help someone with frostbite, and he goes to work searching for wet clothing as he wears a thin set of gloves. Finding that none of his clothes are wet--meaning he doesn’t have to remove any, which is a relief because he had no extra with him--he pulls the few thin blankets he could find on the tauntaun on top of Luke. It’s not a lot of extra warmth, but between being warmed inside the carcass and now not facing wind while inside the tent, it should provide him time to regain his own body heat.

Han feels for Luke’s pulse on his wrist, pushing down the layers from his arm as best as he can against the thick material. It’s slow and faint, but it’s there. He checks his own pulse to make sure he’s not imagining the feeling, but his own heart is racing. He’s not imagining Luke’s pulse.

He really is  _ alive _ .

“Kid,” Han says, “I’m going to kill you for almost dying on me.”

He knows Luke won’t answer, but a small part of him hopes that he would. Like his words would be enough. Like just wanting it to happen would make it so.

Luke’s lips are dry and bleeding, but Han can hear the soft breath pass between them. Luke would be okay. Han just had to keep him warm.

Like a punch to the back of the head, Han suddenly remembers. He begins to lay Luke on his side, push his knees to his chest (as best as his gear will allow), and lay behind him. The thickness of their gear makes it impossible to get any direct skin-to-skin contact and removing layers would be suicidal, so Han pulls one hand free from its glove, pulls a glove from one of Luke’s hands, and covers it, wrapping around Luke’s fist. His skin is so black-blue and cold it makes Han’s chest tighten. But he was alive. That’s what mattered.

Through the layers, Han can still feel Luke’s chest gently rise and fall. 

  
  


\-----

  
  


From what his half-frozen watch tells him, it’s nearly 8 hours until the rescuer finds them, making it the very early hours of the morning. When they return to the base, they find it nearly evacuated. 

Han is carrying Luke over his shoulder, following the scout further into the base, but his body is screaming against the weight.

“We’ve been found,” the scout says hollowly. “We need to escape. We must flee the base.”

Han sets Luke on the ground as gently as he can but still ends up half-dropping him.

“You go ahead,” Han says. He helps Luke sit up, tries to prop his head upright and manages to get most of the ice off his eyelashes, but it falls down against his chest. Han feels desperation and confusion stir low in his gut. 

_ He should’ve been awake by now. He should’ve-- _

“Sir?” the scout pleads. “The Imperial forces--”

“Yeah. I get it,” Han barks, trying to remove Luke’s layers. The heat from the base should be enough to warm him up faster without shocking his body. Luke doesn’t react to Han pulling off his goggles or Han pulling his arms out of his coat.

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

“Sir, the probes--”

“I get it!” Han yells, standing to face the scout, towering over him. “There’s no one here. They won’t come looking for us.  _ You  _ can leave. I don’t care.”

The scout swallows, looking over at Luke briefly before nodding and turning on his heel. When he’s out of eyesight, Han returns to Luke, almost falling to his knees. He continues undressing Luke, trying to get him out of his gear. When he takes off Luke’s coat, he can feel his face pale at how swollen and discolored his arms are, black-blue and dizzyingly sickening.

Han rifles through any training, any modicum of information he learned from anyone, anywhere, to remember what to do. 

He lays Luke on his back. Luke doesn’t stir.

_ No. Not like this. _

Han peels away Han’s tunic, loosening it just enough to get his bare hands under. Han’s hands are warmed from something the scout had given him, some kind of pill that warmed his extremities quickly. He presses his palms to Luke’s stomach, his chest, his ribs, hoping that the shock of warmth will startle him.

_ Just because you want it to happen doesn’t make it so. _

Han aggressively shakes the thought out of his head. Han puts a hand on Luke’s neck, feeling for a pulse. His hands are starting to shake and Luke’s skin is so swollen and cold it almost hurts. He reaches for Luke’s wrist, careful to hold his breath while he felt for a pulse.

Nothing.

Something in Han’s brain reminds him that when the body’s internal temperature got low enough, heart rate was indiscernible. Luke was okay. He was just unconscious. He just needed to get warmed up. He would be okay.  _ He would be okay. _

Han stands up to find more blankets or gear or anything left behind, and dizziness hits him so hard he almost falls again. He realizes it’s been almost twelve hours since Luke had left the base, and he had been unconscious for at least ten of them. This was bordering on a coma. The next step was--

_ No. Not this way. Not him. _

Stars cloud Han’s vision and he crouches near Luke again. He begins to strip off his own gear, piling it stupidly on top of Luke’s body. He doesn’t stop until he’s shivering and he hates, hates,  _ hates _ that it’s his body trying to warm itself instead of Luke’s. 

Desperately, Han pulls away his gear, throwing it aside. He pulls Luke against him, wrapping his arms around Luke’s chest, bare arms on bare skin. He holds Luke tight against his chest, burying his face in Luke’s neck, trying to make Luke’s body leech heat off him. Trying to make him wake up. Trying to make sure he doesn’t--

_ No. _

Han swallows at something he refuses to identify in his throat, thick and heavy and hard to breathe around. He pulls Luke’s bare hands between their bodies, letting fingers fall awkwardly on Han’s lap and stomach, so cold on his skin he almost heaves.

Han presses his forehead into the side of Luke’s neck, trying to feel for a pulse. Trying to ignore how much his own was racing. Trying to make Luke’s body steal some of the heart rate.

_ Just because you want it to happen-- _

Han feels twitching and curling against his stomach. Luke groans, ever so slightly.

Han pulls away from Luke and watches as Luke manages to slowly open his eyes.

Han swallows again, feeling his eyes burn. “Hey, kid.”

Luke slumps against Han’s chest, but his hands feel for Han’s skin, reaching back slowly under his shirt and on his lower back, trying to get warmth. He can feel Luke’s breath on his skin: slow, shallow, but  _ real _ .

Han revels in how Luke is touching him actively, trying to warm his hands and face. When Han can tell his breathing has leveled, he helps Luke sit against the wall. This time, Luke looks up at him, pupils wide and not completely comprehending his surroundings, but conscious.

“I’m going to find--I--I’ll try to find a bath or something,” Han says, pushing his gear toward Luke so Luke can wrap himself up as he shivers violently. He leaves down the hall, exploring for anything that was left behind, and-- _ yes, fucking shit yes _ , there is a crude but usable makeshift tub that must have been included for just this reason. He returns to where Luke is, scoops him up under his knees and behind his back, and carries him to the room, setting him down against a wall there. 

“I’ll get a bath going to warm you up,” Han says, turning to the tub. “It won’t be so hot that it shocks your system and makes it worse, but--”

“Where is everyone?”

Luke’s voice is raw and cracked, just like the rest of his body, and it almost makes Han feel nauseous with panic. Fuck, Luke had been so close,  _ so close _ to--

_ No. No. Not now. Not when he’s come this far. _

“The base was deserted,” Han says evenly, watching water drip slowly into the tub. “The Imperial Army knows the base is here.”

“Then why are we s-still here?” Luke croaks, teeth chattering.

“They won’t look for us here,” Han says, feeling something make his voice tight and uncomfortable in his throat. “They think everyone fled. They won’t look here.”

He looks over at Luke. Luke is slumped, too weak to straighten himself out, head resting on his shoulder. But Han can tell he’s thinking things through based on how his eyes move across the floor.

“We n-n-need to leave.”

“We can’t, Luke,” Han says. “Not until you can walk.”

Luke tries to shake his head with the energy he can muster. “They’ll find us. They’ll f-find  _ me _ .”

“I couldn’t take you anywhere when you weren’t stable,” Han says, voice hardening in defense. “You could’ve--you wouldn’t have improved.”

Luke picks his head up. “Han, if we s-s-stay here, we’ll both die. They’ll see us together and kill you b-b-because you’re w-with me.”

Han listens to the flow of the water. Luke blinks slowly, looking Han over.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

Luke’s mouth opens slightly so he can breathe. Han watches as he fights hard to take deep breaths, waves of shivering making his body convulse. He turns off the water, feeling it with his fingers to make sure it’s not too hot.

“Here’s the plan,” Han says, helping Luke to his feet. “You’re warming up in the bath. Meanwhile, I’ll commlink the last person to leave here. He’ll come back for us, you’ll get some rest on the ship, and it’s back to shenanigans.”

Luke’s knees knock, but he can stand. He doesn’t try to help Han undress him. He actually puts his hand over Han’s, trembling and blue.

“N-no, Han,” Luke says softly. 

“Yup,” Han says defiantly, louder, like that will change Luke’s mind. “If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.”

Han pulls off the rest of the gear, leaving Luke in his first layer of clothing and socks. He scoops Luke up and gently lowers him into the bath, his lower back knotting so hard he almost gives out.

Luke sinks into the bath until the water is up to his chin. He’s still shivering, but after a few minutes, it seems to lessen.

“I d-don’t want you to die be-because of me,” Luke nearly mutters, voice thin with desperation.

“You’re worth it, kid.”

To avoid Luke’s eyes and the hot embarrassment licking up his neck, Han roots for his commlink in his coat on the floor. He tries the scout. Nothing. He tries every other frequency he can remember, but there’s no response.

“Too far,” Luke says softly, diagnosing the problem.

“There’s--wait,” Han says suddenly. He runs out of the room and through a labyrinth of ice-shelled hallways to find the makeshift hangar, and if Han wasn’t already a betting man, he’d bet his whole life on there being one ship, even some shitty little thing, left.

And he’s  _ right _ .

The wind is torn from him, he’s so relieved. He rushes over to it to make sure there’s nothing wrong with it, and from what he can assess and from the notes he finds scattered around the hangar, it didn’t have enough fuel to make it far, but at least enough to get off Hoth to some other planet. And that was all Han needed.

He runs back to where Luke is so quickly he slips on ice and falls flat on his ass, but he doesn’t care. They have a way out. They’ll be okay. Luke won’t--

Han feels his body rock back like he’s about to pass out. There’s water all over the ice, tinted brown from the sweat and dirt from Luke’s clothes. Luke’s head is just below the water.

He’s not moving. But he  _ had been _ .

Han rushes to scoop Luke’s body out of the tub and lay him flat on the ground. His eyes are open just a sliver and Han can only see the whites of his eyes.

“Luke,” he says loudly like that will shock him into waking up. He straddles Luke’s lap and tears open Luke’s shirt and listens for a pulse. Nothing. His chest isn’t moving at all. He’s not--

Han begins to compress Luke’s chest, desperately waiting. Waiting for Luke to choke. Waiting for Luke’s eyes to fly open, shocked and electric blue and alive alive  _ alive _ . Waiting for his hands to scramble at Han’s to get him to stop because he’s okay, not choking, not drowned, not--

Nothing.

Han keeps compressing until he feels Luke’s rib crack under the heel of his palm. Luke doesn’t react in any way.

_ “Luke!” _

Han’s voice is hard and angry.  _ If you wouldn’t have left, if you wouldn’t have gone to the fucking hangar, if you wouldn’t have-- _

He takes a deep breath and pushes it into Luke’s lungs, pinching his nose gently and pushing his chin upward. Han can taste blood and the dry skin from Luke’s cracked lips. The air he pushes in repeatedly, breath after breath, only returns against his skin in full. He tries harder, deeper breaths, trying in vain to give Luke his own breath. Like it worked that way.

_ Just because-- _

Han stifles a frustrated scream between his teeth, returning to compressions. He knew this didn’t always work right away. He knew people who had been dead for minutes who were still kicking. Average, ordinary people. Not like Luke. 

Luke’s face falls toward the ground heavily, because Han’s compressions have jostled his body so much. Not because he did it himself. And Han is beginning to think he can’t tell himself otherwise.

Something catches in Han’s throat. He won’t let it crawl up.

When Han can’t bear any more compressions, he returns to giving breaths. They aren’t received. They aren’t reciprocated.

Han feels the thing in his throat not crawl upward, but plummet to the bottom of his stomach. He knows. He  _ knows _ . 

“Luke,” Han says softly against his lips, pushing wet hair away from his forehead. 

There’s nothing.

He’s dead.

From his position straddling Luke, Han feels something bloom empty and heavy and repulsively easy from the knot in his stomach. It’s realization. It’s a point of no return.

He fists his hands in the front of Luke’s torn shirt until his hands ache, wrists screaming in pain. 

_ Luke died because of you. _

Han swears the floor falls out from under him.

As angry, desperate, hot tears well in his eyes, he loosens his hands and touches Luke’s face gently. His skin is pink-red from the shock of drowning, but the skin is losing its warmth under Han’s fingers.

_ You should never have left him. _

Han closes his eyes tight and lets tears fall as they please. He tries not to see all of Luke’s laughs and smiles and smug grins and desperation and explosive emotions flash through his memory. Luke had been completely relaxed. He--

A thought hits Han so hard he pulls himself from Luke’s body and heaves, throwing up bile onto the ice a few steps away. Stars crowd his vision again.

_ You said you wouldn’t leave him. But you did. You lied to him. _

_ And now he’s dead. _

Han feels his legs tremble and braces himself against the wall. He knows he’s going to pass out--too long without eating or sleeping right, and his body is ready to give out. 

He thinks about the water on the floor. Luke struggled. Luke _struggled_. Han left for ten fucking minutes and Luke choked and gasped for air, body too weak from the hypothermia to pull himself the few inches out of the tub he needed to breathe. Han could have easily saved him. But he fucked up. He fucked up. And Luke died in pain, in fear, alone--

_ It should’ve been me. _

He falls to the floor with a crack, his knees catching the fall painfully. But he’s still awake. He rests his forehead on the ice wall, letting waves of dizziness threaten to overpower him. He waits for something to take him. 

He waits for something to take him.


End file.
